


Compos Mentis

by Sunie (orphan_account)



Series: Ex Gratia [2]
Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 02:24:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4986493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Sunie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everybody is alive, but nobody is the same, and Josh knows this well. But he has Chris, and he has Ashley, and they're going to get through this together. He trusts them. And hopefully, they can trust him, too.</p><p>(Sequel to Magnum Opus, but you can still read this fic on its own. See notes for details!)</p><p>Dropped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, like I said, reading Magnum Opus first isn't required to enjoy this fic. It definitely will make certain things less confusing, especially regarding the changes in dynamics between the characters, so if you really need to, you can always go back and give it a read, but I don't think it's necessary.
> 
> A quick summary of Magnum Opus: I did an AU fix-it where basically everyone gets out alive because the Wendigos appeared significantly later in the plot. Attitudes towards Josh are far more positive, with only Sam, Chris, and Ashley having been affected by his prank, while Mike, Matt, Em, and Jess are still somewhat oblivious to it.
> 
> More importantly, the fic built up on the relationship between Josh and Chris somewhat, and I definitely intend on bringing that out further in this one. So without further ado, please enjoy!

Josh comes home to an empty house too large for one person with nothing from his parents but a note on the counter and a cake in the refrigerator. He crumples up the note before he can even read it—he already knows it's just another “sorry we aren't here” from his mom—and tosses it into the trash.

His bedroom is a fucking royal mess and it's been that way for a year. His backpack sits in a neglected corner, still stuffed with last year's paperwork and last year's notes, as if he had, at some point, thought he would ever get his shit back together and go to class. (He didn't.)

He rifles through his drawers until he finally finds his medication. He wonders if it'll make up for all the lost time if he just downs more than usual.

A sudden intrusive thought flashes through his mind of _what if you swallowed the entire bottle_ but he pushes it away. None of that, he reminds himself firmly, maybe saying it out loud, too. “None of that.”

Josh isn't allowed to die until he earns everyone's forgiveness. That's his plan and he's sticking to it. Living is hard, but at least he's got a reason to do it, for now. No more thoughts of dying. No more, no more.

He takes the prescribed amount and then upturns his backpack, the contents spilling out into a big heap on the floor. He shoves the pill bottles inside, and then some clothes and other things. Then he takes out his phone and goes to call Chris.

He stops right before he hits the call button. What if? _What if what if what if?_ But he shakes it away and reminds himself _Chris forgave and forgives you_ and it takes all of his strength to hit that green call button.

Shakily, he puts the phone to his ear and counts the number of rings. Three, before the third gets cut off and Chris's voice, thank god, goes, “Josh? What's up?”

“Hey, man,” Josh says, trying to sound as normal as possible (and not sure if he does). “I know we just got back and all, but you think you could do me a solid and let me stay over tonight?”

There's a brief pause and it takes Josh's entire being to not explode while he waits. Then Chris replies, “Yeah man, sure. I'll come and pick you up, okay?”

His heart swells with joy, but he tries to stay calm. “Thanks, Cochise.”

“No problem. Anytime.”

Josh waits until Chris hangs up first before he puts his phone down, and slumps against the wall, relief flooding his whole being. He knows he can't stay there forever, but at least for tonight, he has somebody to be with. And anything is better than being alone in this huge house filled with memories and ghosts of people no longer there.

A thought comes to him suddenly and he rises with a startle. Right—he should do something for Chris as thanks for letting him stay over. That seems like the correct thing to do, and plus, it gives Josh something to think about while he waits for Chris to get here, instead of leaving him to the abyss of his mind. Quickly, he trawls into the kitchen and mulls over ideas. Cookies—that would take too long. Sandwich? No, what the fuck, that's too simple.

He paces around for a bit before his eyes settle on the blender. Yeah, shit. He'll make him a smoothie. Easy enough. Can't go wrong.

Josh opens up the fridge and rifles through, ignoring the cake his parents bought him to try and make up for their omnipresent absence. He knows at least his mom means well, but his dad—well. Best not get into that now.

Strawberry banana sounds good. He lay the ingredients out onto the counter and starts adding them to the blender piece by piece. A sudden anxiety hits him—what if Chris actually hates strawberry banana smoothies? Josh feels like he should know this (it's his fucking _best friend_ after all), but he can't remember.

No—no, no no no. He shakes his head, and then slowly begins nodding to himself. It's the thought that counts. Besides, if Chris doesn't want it, then Josh can have it for himself. He's nodding still and convincing and calming himself, muttering “it's all good” under his breath over and over when he puts the cap on the blender and locks it in.

He turns on the blender. The strawberry and banana chunks are whipped around and pulverized into a pinkish goop, and the sound of loud buzzing and grinding suddenly makes Josh sick. He looks down to reassure himself but instead screams, staggering back, when he sees not the kitchen tiles but a limp body resembling his own being sawed in half, guts spilling out _(too real, too real)_ , caught in a rotating blade and dangling, _too real_. He flails, frantic, and lashes out, the back of his hand catching against the blender to send it flying—anything to shut it up—stop it, _stop it_ —and it slams against the wall, bouncing back onto the ground. The cap pops off and a splurge of pink smoothie promptly gushes out all over Josh; a chunk of banana splats him in the face. The blender jerks a few times and then goes still, broken and silent, but at least the _image_ is gone.

“Josh?”

Josh flinches and turns to the doorway to see Chris standing there, jaw slightly agape. Josh can't help but turn bright red.

“Uh… shit, bro… I can explain...” he stutters, and Chris looks around the kitchen, still in shock.

“Man, your front door was unlocked, and I was gonna come in and tell you, but… I heard you screaming, so I ran in...” Chris rubs the back of his head and sighs. “Were you trying to make a smoothie?”

Josh laughs nervously, still panting and tense all over. _In and out, Joshua. In and out,_ Dr Hill is whispering into his ear, and he tries to control his breathing, tries not to seem like a scared and trapped animal. “Yeah, I was gonna treat you to a li'l strawberry banana surprise,” he says, looking down at the mess of goop all over his clothing. “Guess I ended up surprising myself.”

“What the hell happened, dude?”

“Nothing,” Josh replies quickly. “I just… got jittery, and… knocked the blender off the counter. And then it exploded on me.” He shakes his head, forcing out a chuckle. “Not exactly the kind of sticky liquid I like being covered with, if you know what I mean.”

Now it's Chris's turn to laugh nervously. Not exactly the mental image he wants to have. Um, not with Josh, anyways. Sure. “Right… let's just get this cleaned up, alright?”

Josh nods. “Sorry, Cochise. Didn't mean to start off our little sleepover with this mess.”

“No, no, it's fine.” Chris has to admit he's a little flattered Josh went out of his way to try and make him something, but he's still a little suspicious on why exactly the blender exploded. He doesn't think it was an accident, but it's not his place to press—at least for now. “Why don't you get changed first? So you're not dripping smoothie all over the place.”

“Oh, right.” Josh points to Chris in a _good point_ motion and shuffles out. Chris waits for him to leave before he starts cleaning up the spilled smoothie. His eyes wander to the broken blender lying on the ground. But no matter how much he wracks his brain, he can't come up with a reason for why Josh would randomly decide to lash out at a blender.

A few moments later, and Josh comes back with a fresh change of clothes, and the banana smear wiped off of his face. “Here, let me help you out, man,” he says, and crouches down, cleaning up the last of the mess.

They stand up after their work is done, and Chris gently places the broken blender back onto the counter. “So, you ready to head out?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Josh nods. “Got all my stuff packed up and everything.”

Chris wonders briefly if Josh's medication is among the packed up stuff, but he scolds himself for even thinking that because it's really none of his fucking business. The two of them exit the house, and Josh makes sure to lock the door behind him as they go. Chris's car is waiting outside. Josh throws his backpack into the back, and then plops his ass into the passenger seat. As Chris is pulling out, Josh gives his house one last look.

It's funny how little like home it seems, now, even though it's the home he'd grown up in his whole life. Huge, with trimmed gardens and all that shit, big spacious rooms, gorgeous windows, and he knows every nook and cranny of that mansion—but still, _still_ , it doesn't feel like home to him anymore. And, he thinks sadly, maybe it never will again.

Chris notices Josh looking pensively out the window and decides to try and cheer him up. “So uh… you talk to any of the others at all?”

“No.” Josh rips his eyes away from the distancing house and shakes his head, staring at the road ahead instead. “Have you?”

“Well, me and Ash talked a bit. But I think most of us are just trying to… wind down, I guess. The police investigation certainly didn't help us do that.”

“Right...”

“Hey, man,” Chris says seriously, noticing the look on Josh's face. “None of this was your fault.”

 _I know,_ Josh wants to say, but the words don't come out. Maybe because he doesn't really believe them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! So, here we go. I don't know if I'll be updating this one as rapidly as I did the previous one, but given that I'm still very much obsessed with Josh, it's probable I might still be updating every other day or so. In any case, let me know if you have any thoughts or feedback! I'd love to hear from you guys. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

“Here we are. Home sweet home,” Chris says, flipping on the light switch. His apartment is small but cozy, with enough mess to be endearingly used but still neat enough to be considered acceptably tidy. Bowing and ushering Josh in, he does his best pretentious French butler imitation and adds, “Please, sir, you may place your belongings by my exquisite five-star garage sale couch.”

Josh gives Chris a light punch to the shoulder before he tosses his backpack down. “So… you wanna Netflix and chill, maybe?” He asks with a wink. Chris snorts, rolling his eyes.

“Ten minutes in and he gives you that look—” _the look of contorted agony on Josh's face as a buzz-saw blade whirs away and gores him in fucking half, his screams ripping through the room, Chris's hands trembling violently above the lever—_

Josh notices the look on Chris's face. “Something wrong?”

Chris shakes his head quickly, as if tossing the image out of his mind, and forces a smile. “Nah, nothing. Sorry, just… spacing out, you know.” He turns away and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before grabbing the remote. “So uh, Netflix and chill it is, then.”

“Right...” Josh settles down onto the couch. “What're you feeling, Cochise? Chick flick? Romcom? Y'know, I think I'm in the mood for Legally Blonde right about now...”

Chris laughs, and the warmth of how genuine it is for once fills his heart. “Aw, man. I thought for once we could watch something actually good.”

Josh jabs a pointer finger at Chris. “Hey, watch it, buddy. Legally Blonde is quality shit. Unlike whatever low-budget junk you've been guzzling off of Syfy.”

“Are you insulting Sharknado?”

“Bro.”

“You totally are. You're dissing Sharknado, which is only the _pinnacle_ of film, the _highest point_ in human cinema history. How could you? I expected better of you, Mr Washington,” says Chris in his mock-authoritative voice, putting his hands to his hips.

Josh laughs and the sound of it—all loose and free and natural—almost makes Chris cry. This joy they're experiencing right now is so _transient_ and he knows they both know it, because sooner or later one of them is going to break and the events of that night will come crashing back full force. But until then— _until then_ —don't they deserve to cherish at least one moment?

They crash together with blankets and microwaved popcorn and despite Chris's complaints, Legally Blonde comes on and the TV starts blasting “On This Perfect Day”. Josh is, of course, able to recite almost every line after the intro's conclusion.

An hour in, and Chris stops hearing Josh's laughter. He glances over and sees him completely knocked out, draped over the side of the couch and sleeping with his mouth open, tangled up in the blanket. Chris can't help but grin to himself as he shuts off the TV and gets up to leave his friend in peace.

The sound of Josh's muttering, though, makes him hesitate. He turns slightly, and looks back at Josh to see his face somewhat pained as he writhes on the couch. Chris frowns. Should he wake him up? Or should he let him sleep? It looks like he's having nightmares, but… will being awake make it any better?

He doesn't have to decide, though, because not a second later and Josh jerks himself awake, spluttering. “Oh… uh… shit, dude. Did I fall asleep?”

“Yeah. And Elle Woods was just about to pull her most badass moment,” Chris jokes, and sits down on the couch next to Josh's reclining body.

Josh makes an exaggerated noise of disappointment. “Oh, well. Not like I haven't seen her kick ass a million times before.” He turns over slightly, untangling himself from the blankets with difficulty.

“...You sleep okay?” Chris asks, trying not to sound too concerned.

“What, that?” Josh snorts. “That was, like, blinking. That barely counted as sleep.”

“Josh.”

Josh stops, and looks up at Chris with a degree of measured seriousness. “I mean… I'm fine, man. You don't need to worry about me like this. I'm not a fucking five-year-old.”

 _But I care about you_ , Chris wants to say (the words don't come out). Instead, he just shakes his head. “Yeah, a five-year-old wouldn't make dick jokes every two seconds and stare at girls' asses.”

“Who said I only stare at girls' asses?”

“What?” Chris's ears redden.

“You ever seen Mike's ass?”

“Dude!”

Josh bursts out laughing. “I'm just fucking with you.” He sits up, the blanket draped over his shoulders like a cape. “See? I'm fine. You're fine. We're all fine. It's like you forgot the second half of Netflix and _chill_.”

Chris decides to trust Josh this time, and rolls his eyes before he goes to sleep in his own bed. Josh closes his eyes, counting the steps, and then lets out an hour-long exhale once Chris is out of earshot.

He doesn't know how much longer he can do this for. Sometimes he can barely control his temper and it—it _scares_ him. He doesn't know why Chris's probing makes him so angry. After all they've been through together _(Josh blocks the image of Hannah's twisted Wendigo form out of his mind)_ , doesn't Chris have every right to be concerned? But all Josh can think about is how pissed off he is that Chris keeps asking if he's okay because it's really none of his fucking business, right?

_It's all about you, isn't it?_

He curls up on the couch, squeezing his eyes shut. Anything to make the things he sees go away.

He dreams of Hannah's claws curling around his throat. He dreams that he tries to get away but he can't, because he himself sawed off the lower half of his body. He dreams of Chris's crying and Ashley's screaming and Sam's fearful breathing. He dreams of Hannah and Beth laughing together at Legally Blonde before they turn to him, faces pale and dead, whispering _you don't have the right to be happy when we suffered so much because of you._

Josh jerks awake in the middle of the night, sweaty and shaky. He trades nightmares for shadows shifting in the dark, vague shapes (lanky, thin, contorted, screeching, claws and teeth, _gnashing_ ) scrabbling across the walls of Chris's apartment.

A black butterfly tattoo in the corner of his eye. He flinches, pulling away, but it's just a moth. He grits his teeth.

Not real, not real, not real. You're not real, you're not real, you're not real,” and he doesn't even realize he's saying it out loud.

The echoes of a buzz-saw blade at his ear and he leaps off the couch, his heart pounding. The crackling of broken necks as Beth's corpse watches him from the corner of his room. He breathes heavily, air filling his lungs, his head. He backs up against the wall, and with his hand, he probes for the door. Anything to get away, get away from the things that _aren't real_.

Hannah screeches at him, and he runs out of the apartment into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I strongly apologize for being really bad at writing fluff. lmao


End file.
